Wander eastward beneath the shadow of forgotten winds,
Where whispers congregate to form a chorus of silence.
Follow the scent of invisible colors, wrapping around the oak tree
Which never learned to grow in any direction but the opposite of up.
To your left, a door without hinges awaits,
Should you wish to open it, remember to breathe sideways.
The third step on a staircase that descends in twilight
Is where the echo keeps its secrets locked in chains.
When you find the book that writes itself in shadows,
Know that the words are meant to be unspoken,
Yet if you must speak, hum the melody of a thousand
Raindrops falling on a surface that is eternally dry.